In Life's Name
by Elemarth
Summary: A series of one-shots about taking the Oath
1. A Single Squirrel

**In Life's Name**

**I have read too many stories on this site that has someone discover wizardry after being teased and beaten up regularly. Well, there are other reasons for being willing to take the Oath. I'm trying to show a few. I haven't written for this fandom because I can never think of what someone would do for an assignment or Ordeal, but this conveniently doesn't require me to think of that. The majority of these characters will probably be girls because… well, I am one.**

**Since so few people read Young Wizards, those of you who **_**do**_** read this have more responsibility to review in this fandom than others! Not that I get many reviews, anyway, even though I've written fics for Star Wars and Harry Potter, but I still live for them. So **_**please**_** read and REVIEW!**

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**A Single Squirrel**

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**This was inspired by something I saw while riding my bike around the neighborhood one morning – the same bike ride during which I had the idea for this whole fanfic.**

**I just lent my copy of So You Want to be a Wizard to a friend, so I can't check Miriam's book against Nita's. Oh, well.**

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The squirrels had been everywhere that morning, rejoicing in late spring, hesitating, then dashing away as Miriam's bike approached, so she wasn't surprised at first glance that one more would be in the middle of the road.

That innocence lasted less than a tenth of a second. Miriam instinctively swung her head away from the sight, but it was too late. She had seen how the little body was stretched out, belly-up and noticed a triangle of red that could have been either an open mouth or blood on the neck. She winced and shuddered. This squirrel hadn't run as fast as its cousins that day.

She pushed down on her pedals, putting the dead squirrel behind her – physically, at least. But she couldn't get it out of her head.

_It was just a squirrel,_ she told herself. _Just a squirrel! Squirrels die every day!_

It was true. And it wasn't as if she hadn't seen roadkill before. She usually turned her head too quickly to figure out what it was, but she had seen all sorts of things on the side of the road. Raccoons that hadn't run fast enough. Armadillos that had responded instinctively to fear and jumped straight up – ensuring that they would be hit by a car that might have otherwise gone harmlessly over them. Even squirrels.

But she had seen all that from the car, which moved so quickly that she _couldn't_ have looked long if she had wanted to. Being here, close to the road, open to the same air that the squirrel had last breathed, and not going so quickly, the sight of death horrified her.

_It's not fair,_ she thought. _Humans mess everything up. What defense do animals have against cars? They make one bad choice about which way to run and they're dead! Sure, everything has to die, but why like _that?

Miriam shrugged to herself. She had been all around her neighborhood. It was getting boring to ride the same paths every day, but she had to do something to burn off energy, and she didn't like to cross the big streets to another neighborhood. She headed for her house.

The red triangle on the squirrel's head or neck was still haunting her. Why had it had to die?

She shook the image out of her head. _Get over it. You can't save animals. You're barely even thirteen! It's not like anyone would listen to you if you tried to do something._

Miriam swung into her driveway and leapt off the bike. She rolled it in and tossed her helmet to the side, then went into the house.

"Hi, Merry," her mother called. "Have a good ride?"

"Yeah," Miriam said, but her mind was elsewhere. Surely one dead squirrel shouldn't have affected her so much, but she still wished that there was something she could do to help something. She hated being thirteen. Too young to vote. Too young to go anywhere alone beyond the scope of her bicycle. Too young for adults to listen to her.

Miriam slumped on her bed. She was out of books, and she didn't feel like asking to go to the library. All her friends would be asleep – she was an early riser. She certainly didn't want to start working on her homework. She had to take notes on the new chapter in science, one of her least favorite assignments.

She got up and wandered around the house. There was usually _something_ interesting to read. She stopped in front of the bookcase in the living room and contemplated all the familiar spines of books she had never even looked at the title of.

Wait.

That one wasn't familiar.

And it didn't have a title.

Miriam pulled it out. It was a simple, blue, hardback book, probably about three hundred pages, worn at the corners. Like plenty of hardback books, its front and back covers had nothing on them, but it didn't have a decorated paper cover over it, and the spine didn't even have a hint of the titles that all books had there. Curious, she opened it.

On the inside cover, someone had written two words.

_An answer._

An answer to what? Miriam frowned and headed back to her room. She sat on the bed and opened it again.

No title page. No copyright page. No dedication. No torn edges where these pages should have been. The publisher had dived straight in to the first chapter.

_Wizardry._

_Oookay, this is not weird at all,_ Miriam thought, trying to drown out her misgivings with humor. There were plenty of books on wizardry, witchcraft, astrology, fairies, and every other facet of myth in her house, but this one seemed to take it seriously.

Feeling as if she was figuratively at the safe distance of the world of sanity, assuring herself that nothing was true, ready to laugh at herself for humoring the writers this far, Miriam began to read.

And read.

And read.

And believe what she read.

She didn't want to. She had been brought up in a family that valued logic. She had never believed anything that couldn't be proved. She wasn't even religious. But this was something she couldn't resist. Not just that it was fascinatingly well written and convincing, but that it told her things that she had longed for.

She was only thirteen, but she could be a wizard. In fact, she would be more powerful than the adults. She would have to keep it secret, but she could still do it. She could make a difference – more of a difference than most people who could vote, drive, and make other adults listen to them!

She could defend life.

She could stop more little animals from being killed by blind, careless humans. She could help end pain. She couldn't do everything, save everything, but she could try. And make a difference.

She didn't believe it, of course. But it would have been nice if it was true. It was everything she wanted.

Finally, she turned the page, and the book began talking about how to become a wizard. Its author had been creative. Rather than the usual idea of long training and rituals, all one had to do was take an oath and survive something called "the Ordeal." That was a nice idea – that simplicity.

Suddenly, it occurred to Miriam.

She could take the Oath.

She almost laughed. That would be a good story to tell her friends! _This book convinced me that I could actually do magic and all I had to do was say this oath – and guess what? I actually tried! Can you _believe_ it?_

But that was the question.

Did she believe this? Because, if she did, what she was about to do could change her life. _Would_ change her life, if it was true.

_Yes,_ she thought. _If it's true, I want this more than anything. I don't want to see another dead squirrel and know that I can't help._

She fiddled with her bedspread. _Is it true?_

_I'd never be able to tell my parents. My friends._

_But I won't be alone. There are plenty of wizards out there…_

_I can't believe I'm thinking this! It's a book! Magic is a kid's story! It's not real!_

But she couldn't convince herself that it wasn't. What the book had said – she could hardly admit it – what the book had said had made _sense_. If there _was_ magic in the world, it would be like this.

And it was the answer. No, not the only one. _An_ answer. But it _was_ an answer. And she had to answer some questions herself.

Did she believe that the book could be telling the truth?

Yes.

But was she ready? Only thirteen years and two months old – barely a teenager – was she really ready to take this on?

Yes.

Would she take the Oath?

Yes.

Was she prepared that it might not work?

Yes.

Was she prepared that it might?

_Yes._

Miriam's mouth moved. "In Life's –"

_I can't believe I'm doing this!_

She thought about the squirrel, shook her head, and started over. "In Life's name and for Life's sake…"

Miriam paused before the end. What would happen once she was finished? But she had to find out. "– till Universe's end."

There. It was over. And nothing had happened. Miriam shrugged. A story to tell her friends. She hopped off her bed.

But she didn't want to leave the plain little book. She shrugged again, sat back down, and went back to reading.

It was funny that a single squirrel had the power to change her entire life.


	2. Family Matters

**Family Matters**

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**This story is about another bike-riding thirteen-year-old – very different yet somehow similar to the one in the last story.**

**95 degrees Fahrenheit is 35 degrees Celsius, and it is that hot today!**

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"That's my drawer!" Kara snarled.

Rachel jerked back as if the dresser had suddenly come alive. "Sorry," she muttered. "Do you know where my dark blue shorts are?"

"Not in _my_ drawer. I'm not a thief."

"I know, but I could have put them in there by… by mistake…"

Rachel trailed off at Kara's expression. Kara would never have admitted it, but she hated seeing that hurt look on somebody's face. The way people feared her made her feel horribly guilty. She didn't mean to do it, but whenever she tried to be nice to Rachel – or Rachel's brother, Chris, or parents – something inside her blocked out the kindness, and she struck out instead. She had given up trying. It didn't help that she had to share a room with her foster sister. Kara owned little enough, and she didn't like anything she owned to be touched by someone who had everything she needed.

Kara was younger than Rachel by three years, but she was a full head taller and far more intimidating. She was skinny but unusually strong. Her brown eyes regularly narrowed into a cold, furious glare. Rachel, on the other hand, had long, straight, dark brown hair and a soft body. She wore clothes to complement her figure while Kara cared nothing for hers. Kara felt like she could easily kill the other girl with her bare hands – not that she ever wanted to, even in her angriest moments.

It wasn't Rachel's fault, really, or Chris's. It wasn't their fault that their parents had decided that it was their social duty to try to adopt an orphan. It wasn't their fault that their parents had chosen Kara. And it definitely wasn't their fault that Kara's parents had died when she was only five, that she had no pictures, that she couldn't remember anything but the general feeling of their presence, or that she had been sent to nine foster homes over the eight years since and hadn't lasted a year at any. They were just caught up in the adult-controlled world, like Kara was.

So why couldn't Kara show that she understood? It frustrated her so much.

Kara stalked out of the room and slammed he door. And there, in the hall, was Chris. She couldn't stand this. She just wanted to be _alone_. Have her own space. Escape all those kids – and adults – who thought they knew everything but had never struggled with anything more difficult than writing a research paper for English or talking to their crushes or finding a job to buy their very own cars – and thought that this was important.

"Where are you going?" Chris asked.

"Out," Kara growled. He was fourteen, a year older than she was, and he was very smart. He always got the top grades in his classes. Kara had been getting B's and C's this year, but she had changed schools at least fifteen times since kindergarten, often in the middle of the year, so her education up to this point hadn't exactly been taken care of.

"To the park?" he asked, laying just enough emphasis on the last word as to show her that he didn't believe that she ever went there.

"Yes," she snapped. "It's the only decent place to spend time around here."

"It's ninety-five degrees out. Last I checked."

"So what?"

He shrugged. "I'm just saying."

"Well, I'll make sure I don't die of heatstroke, okay? I know you'd _hate_ it if I did."

"Okay, okay. Go ahead. Jeez."

"Kara!" called Amy, Chris and Rachel's mother, from another room as Kara pushed past Chris.

"Yeah, I'm coming," Kara said. She knew that Amy wouldn't be able to hear her, but she didn't want to be the kind of kid who jumped the moment an adult said something.

"KARA!"

"I _said,_ I'm _coming_!" Kara shouted back. She could sense Chris rolling his eyes behind her back. _Bet you wish you'd never let me through your door,_ she thought sadly. _I'll never stay anywhere if I keep this up. It's been too long already. Five months. They won't be able to stand me much longer._

But she couldn't stop. She scowled at Amy, who was sitting at the computer. "What?"

"Don't make that face."

"It's my face. I can make it however I want."

Amy looked over the tops of her glasses, a stern expression that would have been a useful tool for a teacher. "Don't talk to me like that. Or Chris. He was just trying to help."

"I don't need help."

"You're thirteen. All kids need help, no matter _what_ they think."

Kara felt her lip curl. "I don't need _his_ help. Never will."

"Are you really going to the park?"

"Yeah. Where else would I go?"

"I wish I knew. Because you're not going to the park every day."

"Says who?"

"I know you aren't. Where are you really going?"

"To the park. Can I go, please?"

The "magic word" softened Amy. She just said, "Apologize first."

That was easy. "I'm sorry."

"To Chris."

"I'm sorry, Chris!" Kara shouted. Just so Amy would leave her alone, she added. "I know you only wanted to help."

The woman nodded. "You _do_ know that it is in the nineties today."

"I don't care. I've lived in Florida my entire life. I don't mind heat." The family had moved from Massachusetts when Chris had been five – the same age that Kara had been when she had lost both her parents in one day.

"Be careful, all right? Bring a water bottle."

"I was _going_ to." If it hadn't been so hot, she would have refused to in defiance of Amy's care. "Can I go?"

"Okay, okay. To the _park_."

Kara grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and pulled on her sandals. She checked the thermometer as she wrapped the chain lock around the body of her bike – bought for her, though the family would keep it when they sent her away. "Damn," she muttered. It was ninety-six degrees, and it was only May. She grabbed her helmet, rolled the bicycle out of the garage, put the water bottle in the holder, and kicked the left pedal up. At the edge of the driveway, she stepped on the pedal, and she was off, away from her "family," to freedom.

At the intersection by the park, Kara swung her leg over her bike and ran to a stop. She pulled off her helmet and ran her hand through her sweaty hair. This was why she kept it short. She took her water bottle from its holder. The outside was soaked with condensation, and the water was in the uncomfortable region between cool and warm, but she drank, replaced the bottle, and walked her bike through the park.

At least she did pass through here. She wasn't entirely lying. Not that she would have cared if she had to lie, but it was better to be able to know that she was telling part of the truth. It confused people more. It was their own fault, if they thought that she would really tell them where she went. She knew to keep her secrets.

The park was full of wildly colorful plastic, mostly red, white, and blue – it had been remodeled in 2002. Around each structure was either rubber or sand. Nothing to get hurt on, not if the remodelers had anything to say about it. What would these kids grow up to be? Nothing could happen to them. It was forbidden for them to face adversary. They couldn't even be scraped or bruised on a playground, and that was what playgrounds were _for_.

Kara had jumped off a merry-go-round when she was seven and had fractured her arm. So it had hurt, but at least she had known how to handle the broken wrist she had gotten from a frustrated foster parent when she was nine. _That_ family hadn't even kept her long enough to see it heal. They had sent her back three days later. Kara knew now that she should have told her social worker, but she hadn't realized then that any adult would believe that another adult would do something wrong to a child. Not in real life.

This playground didn't even have a merry-go-round.

At the other side of the park were several concrete picnic tables and an old, unpainted, dirty set of swings. They were probably safety hazards in multiple ways. When Kara stayed at the park for more than five minutes, she went there. She headed in that direction.

A boy was sitting on one of the tables near the patriotic playground equipment. He was about seven or eight years old, and he was trying to hide that he was crying.

Kara stopped and kicked down her stand. The sane half of the park could wait. "What's wrong?"

The boy looked up and wiped his nose on his sleeve, clearly embarrassed. "Nothin'."

"Sure something is. It's okay. You can talk to me. I'm only thirteen." She hung her helmet on her handlebars, checked the balance of the bike on the dirt, and knelt in front of him. It wouldn't help to look like the giant she was growing up to be.

"My mom left."

"When?" Kara knew not to jump to conclusions, no matter what _her_ past had been. She kept her voice steady.

"Dunno. Said she had to buy somethin'. Said she'd be back in fifteen minutes."

Kara nodded. There were stores just across the street, and someone might assume that the park was a safe place on a Saturday, since there were so many kids and mothers around. She looked at the boy more closely. His hands were over his knees, and when she moved them, she realized that his knees and elbows were all scraped. At least it was still possible to be hurt on the playground.

"Whatcha do?"

"Fell," he said. He sniffed again. "I want Mom."

"Does it hurt much?"

He nodded.

Kara sat next to him on the bench. "It's okay. I'll tell you something. When you get hurt once, you learn what it feels like, and it doesn't hurt as much the next time." She knew that this wasn't entirely true, though. She had been abandoned so many times that, though it didn't hurt so much when it happened, she anticipated the pain, so it cancelled out. "It isn't so bad, either, is it? Just some scrapes. Did you wash them?"

He shook his head.

"Here." She took his hand. "The water's cold. It'll feel good, right?"

He followed her to the water fountain. She splashed water over his legs and arms. "Is that better?"

"A bit."

"Good. You sure you don't know when your mother left?"

He wiped his eyes again and shook his head.

"I'll stay with you until she comes back, okay?"

He nodded.

"I'm Kara. What about you?"

"Jordan."

"Cool name. Got any brothers and sisters?"

"No."

"Me, either." She didn't tell him what else she was missing, of course. She didn't want to traumatize him.

His head jerked up. "Mommy!" he screamed.

Kara looked up, too, to see a woman running towards them. "Jordan! I'm so sorry!" She stopped in front of the table. "Hello."

"Hi. He was scared, so I said I'd stay with him until you came back." That was the entire truth, for once.

"Thank you _so_ much. I didn't mean to take that long, but you know how the lines are at checkout." She swept her son into her arms.

Kara nodded and smiled, and expression that her foster families almost never saw. The woman must have assumed that Kara was an adult, although everyone else thought that she was a kid, a worthless kid to be tossed around. She trusted Kara, although other people thought that the girl was a step away from juvenile delinquency.

"Thank you _so_ much!" the woman repeated.

"No problem," Kara said, smiling more widely. "Bye, Jordan."

"Bye," the little boy said, waving.

Kara picked up her bike again and walked through the rest of the park. It felt so good for someone to think that she was mature. And she had helped someone. She loved that feeling. She _wasn't_ worthless, and wasn't going to be a criminal, no matter what the social workers thought. She'd show them.

At the other side of the park, Kara crossed the street again, put her helmet back on, and kicked her bike into motion. She rode three blocks, then swung around the side of the library to the bike racks. The park was all right, but she wouldn't spend all afternoon there, especially not one this hot. No, she had a better place to spend her time, and her "family" wasn't going to find out about it.

She unwrapped the chain lock and strung it through her back wheel and a helmet strap, then pulled it around the bar of the bike rack and slipped the lock closed. She took another drink of water and headed into the cool of the library.

Kara sighed deeply as she opened the door. That felt _so_ good. She went straight to the Young Adults' section.

Kara didn't have a library card. If she was curious enough about a book, she would try to find it again. Otherwise, she just read for a few hours and put the book back. She had just finished one, and she was sure she couldn't find another that she would like that much anytime soon. It had been one of the few fantasy books that were as good as the famous ones they tried to imitate. She decided that she would find something that would drastically lower her expectations. If she kept them low, she couldn't be disappointed.

_Young Wizards._ What kind of title was that? That would describe every book from Harry Potter down to its lowest imitators. Well, it sounded bad enough. She pulled it out.

Its cover was as generic as its title. It showed a burst of light centering on the spine and fading to black at the edges of the cover. There were no words on it besides its title. Unusual.

Kara opened it to the inside cover. "Do you want to help the world?" it asked. "Do you want to help the universe? Are you prepared to work hard for this? Are you prepared to dedicate, and possibly give up your life for it? If so, then this book is for you."

And that was all. Kara slid into one of the chairs at an empty table, keeping her eyes on the book, as if the words would disappear if she looked away. _This has to be one of the weirdest books I've ever touched._ It didn't talk as if it belonged in the fiction section. But it didn't seem like something that most people would take seriously. _Help the universe?_ Kara could hear unidentified voices ask. _How is that possible? We're just humans, not God or something._ Or, worse, _what does it need help _with? And accompanying snickers as they turned away.

But Kara was willing to give the starburst book a chance. She opened it and started reading.

No. It did not belong in the fiction section. But something told her that it didn't belong in the nonfiction section, either. All books in the library were written by people, but this felt like something more. Something infallible. Something _real_.

Something faintly familiar.

Something she wanted a part in.

She read about wizardry for an hour. It had to be true. She felt that she could disbelieve anything… anything but _this_.

A wizard had the ability to protect and nurture life. To stop pain. Maybe she could help other children to escape the kind of life that _she_ had been forced into. And she could imagine all the other things she would do along the way. She had never left Florida, but this would allow her to leave Earth! To visit an alternate universe!

The idea of the Ordeal didn't bother her. Her life had been an ordeal since she was five. She could handle more. A lot more. The only thing that did bother her was that it was dangerous for a wizard to lie. She had enough to lie about as it was, and this would only add something else, something that she didn't see how she could avoid lying about. She'd only end up in an asylum if she tried to tell someone. Well, she was practiced at telling incomplete truths. After all, she hadn't lied that she had gone to the park. She just hadn't stayed there. She was sure she could escape the truth for more important things, too.

Kara suddenly realized with a sinking feeling that she _had_ to take this book home. She had to get a library card. She would have to hide the book, or someone would figure out that she had gone to the library. It was her own business if she liked books. She didn't need other people to know. And what if she got into the habit of bringing them home? It would get harder and harder to hide. She deserved to be able to keep some secrets to herself.

Well, this one had to come home, at least. She could throw away her card afterwards if she wanted – once she had figured out if it was possible to keep the book. She'd find some way to pay for it if she had to.

Kara found a library worker and asked with politeness that was easy for her but would have astonished Amy, "Excuse me? Could you tell me how I can get a library card?"

The woman took Kara to a desk and gave her a sheet to fill out. Kara looked at all the information. She hoped that she knew her current address. Though she wouldn't want them to send any reminders to the house she lived in. Amy would see them first. Or, worse, Rachel or Chris.

She shrugged to herself. She had to, to get this book home. She filled out the sheet and waited for the woman to go over the information. Finally, the woman gave her a card, and she signed it, and it was done. She checked out the book and ran out to her bicycle.

The late afternoon heat smothered her in a moment. She took her bottle into the library and filled it at the water fountain. Then, she faced the heat.

It was going to be hard, she realized, to carry a book as she rode. She made a few false starts and felt the book fall on the ground with something that twisted in her heart as pain before she managed to balance while holding it under her arm. She rode slowly back to the park.

Kara stopped at the old swings on the better side of the park and propped her bike up against the swingset poles. She took a drink and opened the book again.

She had hesitated over something the first time. The Wizard's Oath. This was it. This was the choice. If she said the words on the page aloud, she would be a wizard. She would face an Ordeal and learn to protect life in all its forms. She would travel to places that the mindless people around her could hardly imagine – except, of course, the one in twenty that was a wizard, too. She would have to watch what she said.

There was no choice, for Kara. She had read it. She could never forget it. She was going to do it. She knew.

"In Life's name, and for Life's sake…" Her voice was steady and strong. The words flowed out. It felt even better than being thanked by Jordan's mother. It felt better than anything she had done since her parents had died. There was something warm inside her – clean warmth, not like the sweaty heat of the day. She smiled to herself. That was fulfillment.

Kara finally stood and picked up her bike from the soft dirt. She walked it across the park, beside the vibrant plastic and the too-well-cared-for children whose parents wouldn't let them do anything themselves. Would any of them turn out to be wizards? Or were more wizards taken from the lower classes, the people who actually had to struggle to live? That was an interesting thought. And it would serve them right. She grinned as she pushed off and rode back to the house.

Kara put the book in the drawer of her nightstand before she even washed her face. That was _hers_. Hers alone.

Dinner was disgusting, as usual. Not the food. Amy was a wonderful cook. More the way that everyone pretended that Kara was part of the family and everyone knew that she was just the freak who had come to stay to fulfill their desire for charity.

Now the wizard, too. But they didn't know that, of course.

Kara had to wash the dishes under Amy's supervision that night. She could never clean the pots to Amy's satisfaction. Only Rachel was that talented. Besides, Kara privately thought, Amy must have been afraid that she would break something. Kara would have been in her position.

Rachel was at the computer, so Kara could have the room to herself and read. She hurried down the hall.

Chris was in her room.

With the drawer of Kara's nightstand open.

Looking at the book.

"GET OUT!" Kara screamed. "DON'T TOUCH MY STUFF! That's MINE! Isn't it bad enough that I have to share a room with Rachel?! Leave me ALONE! Get out! OUT!"

Chris just turned to her, wearing an expression that she had never seen before on anyone. It was nothing like fear at her far-superior height. She had no idea what it _was_.

"Dai stihò," he said quietly.

Kara's mouth stayed open, but it took her several astonished seconds to be able to form it into, "Oh."

He set the book down on her bed, still giving her that look. "Did you just take it?"

Kara nodded silently, her mouth still forming the single vowel.

"It's been four months for me."

"KARA!" Amy shouted down the hall.

"It's fine, Mom!" Chris called back.

"D-d-do they – your parents – do they – do they know?" Kara whispered, shock overcoming embarrassment at her stammering.

Chris shook his head. "It won't be long, though. We can't escape forever. There's Rachel, too. She's been a wizard for three years."

Kara's mouth opened again. "Oh."

"It's not easy, you know. But… well, it's more than worth it. The things I've had to do… I thought I'd die just out of fear. But the things I've _seen_… It's unbelievable."

Kara's mind finally started moving properly. These people were wizards. These kids. These kids that, she had believed, had never known a moment of trouble in their lives. They were _wizards_. Her mouth was still stupidly open.

She had been _wrong_.

_Very_ wrong.

_Unbelievably_ wrong.

"Do you know about your parents?"

"My… my parents?"

"I looked it up when you came. They were wizards. Both of them."

That vowel rose again. "Oh."

The familiarity. No wonder. She had always known this. She had lived with it for her first five years.

"They – well, they died on an assignment. It – I'm sorry. It happens. A lot."

Kara had never before been so shocked that she had to sit down, but now, she fell onto her bed. "Oh."

"I'm sorry." She knew the expression that crossed Chris's face: concern. "I shouldn't have told you that."

"N-no, thank you. R-really."

"I'd be in gigantic trouble if I touched your Ordeal. I wish I could help, but…"

"I – I – don't –" But she might. She might need help. Really. And on more than her Ordeal. "Thanks."

"Hey, before you have to study – and face your Ordeal – the hard stuff – do you want to do something fun? Do you want to go to the Moon? Mars? The other planets in this system aren't very good for visiting."

"Uuuuh…" Kara was a wizard. Chris and Rachel were wizards. Her parents were wizards. She could go to the Moon. This was too much.

"Sorry. I'm putting too much on you."

"Uuuh. Can we really?"

"What? Go to the Moon? Why not?"

"It's not – not illegal or something?"

"No. People go there all the time. You know Earthrise? That picture the astronauts took? That's the kind of view you get."

"Okay."

"Really?"

"What're _you_ doing in here?" Rachel stood at the doorway and glared at her brother. Kara's mouth closed finally.

"We're going to the Moon."

Rachel looked from Chris to Kara and back. "Oh, no."

"Oh, _yes_. What's wrong with it?" Chris asked.

"Three wizards in the house? And we still have to tell Mom and Dad someday."

Chris shrugged. "Are you coming with us or not?"

"I'm coming, believe me. This is going to get _interesting_."

"Come on." Chris stood and gestured for Kara to follow. "Dad? We're going for a walk, okay?" He added under his breath, "_Moon_walk."

Kara silently followed her foster sister and brother outside. Her first home had been with two wizards. Maybe the one she finally stayed in would, too.

* * *

**Please review! You do **_**not**_** want me to set Kara on you!**


	3. Alone

**I know it's long, and maybe it's not as good as the other two, but I'm trying.**

**I've been interested in Selective Mutism and Social Anxiety Disorder since I found out about it three years ago. I've been trying to put it in stories because it's so under-represented. This is the first one "published". If you want more information for any reason, I'll tell you the best websites.**

**This story is connected to the first one. Basically, I needed a wizard between Oath and Ordeal as a character, and Miriam seemed like the right type. But, unless someone has an idea for an Ordeal plotline (do share!), I will not likely follow her story any longer.**

**Thanks to Issac Blast, oXXb00kw0rmXXo (could you have made your name any more difficult to copy??), and Reading Redhead for the good reviews. A440… your opinion seems unpopular.**

* * *

**Alone**

* * *

_I'm not going to do it this time,_ Will decided. _They can't make me. They shouldn't try to make me until they know what it feels like. They _wouldn't_ try to make me if they knew what it felt like._

He nodded inwardly. _I'm not going to let them make me do it. Not this time. I'll do what _I_ want for a change. No excuses._

This was the opposite of the pep talk that Will's teachers and parents would have liked him to be giving himself, but frustration at always being controlled by them didn't even begin to describe his feelings anymore. He was furious. His anger mixed with his terror and made him sick to his stomach, but he was still determined.

It was the second day of book reports in English class. All the volunteers had gone, and the teacher was choosing random students to present. Will sat in the back of the room and went over and over his decision not to get up in front of the class no matter what.

Mrs. Larsen chose his name after ten minutes.

He didn't move.

"Come on, William. You know our deal."

He shook his head.

"You've done this before. Just go on up there."

He shook his head again, but the rest of his body was shaking without his effort. He felt himself blushing and sweating uncontrollably already. This was as bad as getting up!

_But I chose it._

That was little comfort. _You can never do anything right,_ the negative voice in his head told him.

"What's wrong with him?" one of the boys across the aisle whispered.

Loud enough so Will could hear, but not Mrs. Larsen, one of Will's kindergarten friends whispered back, "He has Selective Mutism. You know, like the guy in Virginia Tech. I keep waiting for him to bring a gun to school or something."

Will did his best not to show it, but that hurt. It was entirely unfair. The very same article that said that the killer at Virginia Tech had once been diagnosed with Selective Mutism had said that violence wasn't usually associated with the disorder. And everyone knew that Will would never hurt anyone. He wished he had never let his teachers tell everyone about Selective Mutism.

He still remembered the first day of preschool, when the problem had first appeared. Everyone made it seem so big and exciting. He was starting school. His older brother, Ben, who had been starting third grade, tried to tell him that it was a prison and the teachers were torturers, but Will had stopped believing anything he said by then. He had so many new things that it felt like it was Christmas or his birthday.

Someone had made friends with him before school even started. He was happy. But then, the teacher brought everyone into the classroom, and he panicked. There were too many kids – though there were actually about ten, which was hardly any, he later realized – and he was sure that they were all looking at him. Adults liked kids no matter what, but other kids actually _looked_. He was overwhelmed and terrified.

They played a game that involved introducing themselves. When it came to Will's turn, he panicked again. Everyone was staring at him. He tried to say his name, but no sound came out. He finally made a choked noise. Merry Jacobson – she had started calling herself Miriam when she was nine, but Will still thought of her by her childhood nickname – a friend who lived down the street, had come to his rescue. She said his name, and nobody realized that he hadn't actually spoken himself.

It was because of Merry that nobody had realized that there was any problem with Will until kindergarten. She made friends without thought at that age, and she pulled Will along. His friends spoke to the adults for him, he played happily with and spoke to them, and nobody noticed the difference.

But Merry wasn't in Will's class in kindergarten. One of his other friends rescued him from introductions, but the teacher noticed in a few months that he only spoke to two kids and never if she was close by.

And then came the whirlwind of trying to figure out whether Will was sick or stubborn or just shy. Around halfway through the year, the school psychologist had suggested that he had Selective Mutism, which meant that he was so frightened in social situations that his muscles tensed until he couldn't talk, no matter how much he wanted to. He could speak fine at home or with friends and was mute in uncomfortable situations, so it fit.

And that had ruined everything. Will's parents and teachers set up a goal system, but he didn't meet enough to make them happy, and they started punishing him for not communicating. That made him even more anxious and worried about speaking, and so he found that he could speak less and less, until he couldn't make a sound at all at school, which only made the adults more frustrated. His friends, except for Merry, lost interest in him.

When he was eight, he purposely stopped speaking to Merry when she came over, the only time he had ever chosen not to speak, because he was afraid of what people were saying about them. Boys and girls weren't supposed to be friends. His parents had divorced, and he was sure everyone would know that he was without a father and would think he was like a girl. Of course, dropping Merry hadn't helped. Only Ben had ever called him girly. He had lost his last friend.

He hated his parents and teachers for the way they had dealt with him. In time snatched when his class went to the library and he finished the work early, he had looked up Selective Mutism on the internet. He wasn't allowed to use the computer at home unless he spoke to someone besides his mother and Ben, and he never earned it. There were plenty of sites with information written by people who understood. They said that the child should _never_ be punished for not talking because that made them more nervous – exactly how he felt. They shouldn't even be rewarded for speaking – they should be rewarded for specific things, like ordering at a restaurant. In fact, the first thing that should be done, the sites said, was that everyone should relieve any pressure to speak at all. And treatment should focus on making the child less anxious, not on speaking. Will's parents had done the opposite of what the experts suggested, and as a result, his problems had only gotten worse.

For seventh grade English, the bargain was that he had to do all his work and, when the class did book reports, he had to do the visual, make signs saying the name and author of and a bit about the book and stand up there for three minutes rather than the five required for everyone else. He had done three book reports that year. He wasn't going to do a fourth.

He heard Mrs. Larsen sigh deeply. "Will, you'll probably get an A if you do what you've done the other times. Do you really want to not do anything and get a zero?"

"Mrs. Larsen, you know his visual is great. Just let him give it to you and get the points for that."

Will cringed inside. That was Merry. If she had known that he had purposely pushed her away, she didn't care. She didn't come over anymore, but she still was friendly at school, and he knew he didn't deserve it at all.

"Please?"

"All right," the teacher said, to Will's surprise. "I hope you made something."

Will had spent two hours making a diorama for the visual. He had enjoyed it. He would have made more scenes if he had had an excuse. He loved art.

Will nodded.

"Come bring it to me, and thank Miriam."

Will could hardly get hotter, but he tensed so much that he thought he would throw up. He picked up his diorama with shaky hands and walked across the back of the room and down the side. He knew that most people turned to watch him, but it was better than going across the front, where _everyone_ would see him.

He did manage to get hotter before he got to Mrs. Larsen's desk. He put the box on the floor next to it without looking at the teacher and went back to his seat.

Mrs. Larsen chose the next student, who grumbled and took his poster to the front of the room. By the time the other boy started his presentation, Will's temperature had entirely lowered to normal. The class's attention had been turned somewhere else. He was safe.

* * *

Will sat at the back of the bus and leaned against the window. _Finally going home._ He dreaded explaining about the book report to his mother, but at least he would soon be away from other people.

_Don't look at me._ This thought went constantly through his head._ I know I'm a freak. Don't tell me._

And yet, he was drowning in loneliness. His fear of people was killing him slowly. He hated to be alone, but he couldn't stand to be any other way. Even his mother and Ben, the only people he could talk to, frightened him.

The bus began to fill with noise and people. Someone sat by Will. He took a tiny glance.

_Oh, God. Not Merry. _He hated when she sat with him – he was too ashamed.

"Hi," she said, searching through her backpack for something. "For the record, I wish you'd just done it, but… I know you hate it."

Will's insides squirmed and twisted. _Stop being so nice. I never did anything for you._

The bus started moving. Will glanced at Merry again. She was reading a book. They used to share the books they liked. He looked away, then did a double take.

It wasn't in English. It wasn't in the Roman alphabet. It was in some curvy script Will didn't recognize.

He couldn't help staring, and Merry, of course, noticed. He looked away, blushing, as she raised her head. He felt her eyes and longed to know, as he did with everyone, what she was thinking about him.

After an interminable amount of time, she tentatively said some words that Will couldn't understand. "Dai stihò?"

He just blushed, hoping she would explain.

"Are you a wizard?" she whispered, though the noise of the bus was enough that nobody could hear.

_A what?_ This sounded like something they would have played about when they were in preschool.

"Do you know what I'm talking about?"

Will shook his head.

"Oh." She sounded disappointed. "It's just – nobody ever looks at this when I have it out. Or if they do, they look away immediately. It's supposed to be that only people with the potential for wizardry see it… maybe…" She suddenly laughed nervously. "What am I telling you this for? You'll think I'm crazy, just like anyone else would. But still – well, you _were_ looking at it."

_What does it matter to her if I look? I'm the only person who cares if people look. That's what everyone tells me._

"Do you want to look at the book?" Merry asked, seeming to come to a decision. "I know this sounds crazy, but there's magic in the universe. Wizardry. This book explains wizardry. I found it a week and a half ago – I thought something would have happened by now, but maybe I'm getting time to practice. I think I used wizardry on Mrs. Larsen. I didn't really try to, but she wouldn't have let you off without some magical intervention."

Maybe she was joking. But Merry wasn't the type to joke or tease, not to Will. And she had seemed to honestly believe he was a wizard, whatever that meant.

_What, does she have a wand?_ he thought, laughing silently. _Maybe an animal as a familiar!_

Guilt rushed through Will. Merry didn't deserve to be teased, even in his head. She was holding the book out to him. "I guess it'll turn into English for you," she said, her voice unsure.

The cover was entirely blue and a bit worn, ordinary except that there was no title. Will opened it to please Merry, expecting to see the strange foreign alphabet, but it was in English, at least in the beginning.

Merry took out another book, a paperback with a normal cover, and leaned back. They were one of the last stops, so they had to settle in for a long ride. It seemed that she wanted Will to read, so he did.

It was interesting. Merry believed it, as far as Will could tell. Will didn't want to. People thought he was crazy as it was – that he would end up doing the next school massacre and suicide – and he thought he might do the second, but certainly not _visibly _– and he could only imagine what they would say if they knew he believed _this_.

But they didn't have to know. He knew he would never slip and tell someone. That was impossible. So he could believe anything he wanted.

He couldn't help being afraid, though, that someone would find out. Somehow. He couldn't convince himself that nobody could read his mind. He was afraid to believe in this, just like he was afraid to do anything except art.

Merry looked up again and said, "I know it's not really right to give you that. You're supposed to find the book yourself. It feels like I'm trying to play – well, not God anymore, it's Powers that Be now – you know? But you noticed it first, and you'd make a good wizard. You like – well, you _do_ like words."

That was true. Will loved words. He would have loved to be able to say them, which probably made him more anxious when he tried. He had a huge vocabulary, though he was too shy to use them in his essays, since they made him sound too smart, and was an excellent speller. His teachers told him that he could probably have gotten to the state or even national spelling bee… if that didn't involve speaking.

_It would be nice if this were true,_ Will thought, still denying that it could be. Wizardry gave words so much power, and it made a wizard part of a network that spanned universes. No wizard would ever be alone, like Will was.

But it wasn't as if he could use it if he did believe it. He had to say the words to make wizardry. So, he realized, it didn't matter what he thought.

The bus finally arrived at Will and Merry's neighborhood. Will closed the book and offered it to Merry. Disappointment inexplicably twisted in his stomach.

"You can keep it for the night. Give it back to me on the bus tomorrow morning."

_Well, okay,_ Will thought skeptically.

* * *

Will's mother took the news that he had only gotten 50 on his book report surprisingly well, even though he had to write it down because he couldn't get the words out. She just sighed, shook her head and let him go to his room.

He turned the idea of wizardry over in his head as he did his homework. _Nobody will have to know if I tried it,_ he thought. _I don't even have to let Merry know._

He realized that the only thing that was holding him back was fear that he would get into something he couldn't handle. He hadn't been offered the book in the proper way. Another wizard – not even one past her Ordeal – had decided he should have it. He wasn't sure if it was even allowed for him to take the Oath in those circumstances. And he couldn't talk with other people around.

Will's mom left to pick up Ben from band practice before dinner. She would drop off two of his friends, too, and she was usually gone for forty-five minutes. He would be alone in the house.

He turned the book over and over in his hands as he thought. Merry would help him. He knew it. It was even possible that things had been planned so she would give the book to him – he wouldn't have believed it if it had come from anyone else – and be around to help him.

_I could even help her. I'm good at some things._

_No,_ he scolded himself. _That's ridiculous. What can _you_ do for _her_?_

He walked around the house, thinking. He never went outside if he could help it except at night, when people couldn't see him if they were even out. His mother complained all the time that he never did anything but sit, read, and draw. Ben was the one that made her happy. He was normal.

_Wizardry will kill me!_ Will thought desperately. _Why am I even thinking about it? People _die_ on their _Ordeals. _And if they survive, they die of wizardry eventually!_

He tapped his fingers on is leg. _Better than dying of loneliness._

He walked around and around the house.

_I have to say the words for the Oath,_ Will thought. He wondered when he had accepted it. _Is it okay that I can't say it right?_

Speech therapy had always been impossible for Will. He couldn't think of what was wrong with the way he talked – talking was bad enough as it was. He formed words like a five-year-old, and he knew it.

_I can try,_ he thought. _It won't do anything bad except speed up what would happen already. And _anything_ would be better than being alone and isolated like this._

He closed his eyes and took deep breaths, sinking onto his bed. _Nobody can hear me. I'm alone right now. There's nothing to be afraid of. Nobody ever has to know I did this._

"In Life'th –" He stopped, wincing. _Nobody can hear._ "Life'th – In L –"

His throat closed off, cutting off the word with a familiar choked sound. Will got up and walked around the house again. He sat and picked up the book again.

_Doesn't matter if you lisp. It never said you couldn't lisp. Nobody can hear you._

"In Life'th name and fow Life'th thake, I thwear to –"

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. _It's okay._

"Use my powah –"

_Doesn't matter if you can't say _r._ Doesn't matter how you sound._

He didn't know how he got through it. It took twenty minutes, twenty minutes of lecturing himself and walking around the house to calm himself. He knew he wouldn't be able to say any spells until he could talk, but he had Merry, and he had gotten past one hurdle. He had taken the Wizard's Oath.

* * *

Will handed the blue book to Merry at the bus stop. "Thanks," she said, grinning. "Did you do it?"

He didn't respond.

She flipped through the book. "You did it," she whispered. "Look."

She shoved the open book at him and pointed.

_Andrews, William E._

_Oh, God,_ Will thought. _I'm there for everyone to see now… This wasn't part of the deal!_

The bus pulled up, almost empty. Will headed for his seat in the back. _Sit down somewhere,_ he urged Merry. _Oh, come on, leave me alone!_

He stared at his seat and frowned. A book was lying there. The cover was entirely green and a bit worn, ordinary except that there was no title.

Will picked it up, dropped his backpack under the chair, sat down, and closed his eyes. Merry slid in next to him.

"You _did_ get a book!" she cheered quietly.

Will nodded. He began to sweat with nervousness.

He opened his eyes as the bus began to move and tried to smile. _It's okay. I'm not alone anymore. I'm a wizard, and I have a friend._

* * *

**Reviews are appreciated. Even if you read this months after it was posted.**

**I'm working on my next story. It will be **_**entirely**_** different from the first three.**


	4. The Ocean

**Heartfelt thanks to everyone who has reviewed! And to think I hesitated to post that story at all!**

**And extra thanks to Isaac Blast, whose request for my picture of Will actually somehow made my muse return and made me finish the story that evening. But then I was waiting for something from him which I never actually got. So I decided to post anyway, but keep an eye on his stories.**

**I'm really sorry I waited this long to post. My current muse demanded a vacation and the plot bunny passed its sell-by date while I was being too lazy to start research, so I've been working with a muse pulled out of retirement and a stale plot bunny.**

**Many thanks to my (Malaysian) beta, Xrai, for helping me to write a story taking place on the other side of the world. I, personally, have never been anywhere farther east than Italy, but I've done my best to learn.**

**If there is actually an Indonesian out there, I apologize for any mistakes in language. My source **_**is**_** Malay, and while I did try to look up words, I had trouble with that. I am positive that "search" is "cari", but I'm not sure of anything else. Anyway, you are welcome to correct me.**

**And now… for something **_**completely**_** different.**

**

* * *

The Ocean**

Anna surfaced for breath and then dove down again. She had never known another ocean than the one surrounding her small island, but she was still in awe of it. A million fish around her, every color possible, coral and sea anemones and everything else below her. She only moved her arms and legs enough to stay in one place. She didn't like to frighten the sea life any more than she had to. She treaded about a meter under the surface, far above the bottom. It would take her entire breath to get down there, and then she would just get a headache later for her trouble. Unlike tourists, who liked to take air tanks down to the bottom, Anna could watch from high above.

She surfaced again and touched the arm of her brother, Yusuf. He was two years younger than her, only ten, and he tired much more easily. She pointed towards the shore. He scowled and shook his head. She nodded emphatically, and they came up together. "I'm not tired," Yusuf insisted.

"I say we're swimming back," Anna said. She was the older one, and he had to listen to her, no matter how much he sulked about it.

Anna pressed her goggles, her only protection from the ocean, against her face to make sure they would stick and took Yusuf's hand. He didn't try to pull away. They headed back towards the pier.

Under them… a whole world. A world in danger, according to adults, but Anna couldn't bear to think of that. She just watched the schools of fish swimming through the coral, rocks, and seaweed. There was a stingray. And there was a lionfish. Anna was glad she was far above it – another reason she didn't like to dive to the bottom or even swim in shallow water. She did take care to watch for anything close to her or Yusuf that might be dangerous, but they had never been bothered near the surface. She didn't think anything would hurt them if they didn't hurt it.

The bottom crept closer and closer to them as they swam. Anna and Yusuf both looked for the dock every time they took a breath. Finally, a gray area in front of them focused into the shadow of a dock, a wonderful place for fish to hide, and a ladder up into the air. Yusuf went first with Anna just behind him.

Climbing into the world of air always reminded Anna of her age. She remembered every day to be thankful that she was still a child. She didn't want to be a woman. She didn't want to have to hide her body. She wouldn't mind covering her hair, since she had never paid much attention to it anyway, but she couldn't wander between the water and the air as she pleased if she was a woman. Not even in her family, which wasn't too bound to tradition.

"What do you want to do, _kak_?" Yusuf asked, using the slang word for "sister".

Anna pulled off her goggles, wrapped the cord around her wrists, and licked her lips, wrinkled from the exposure to salt. She didn't have a particular plan in mind, but you didn't let your little brother think there was a question. "Get a drink of something, and maybe go back into the water if you're not too tired."

"Yes!" Yusuf started to run down the dock, eager to meet Anna's demands and return to the water. Anna caught up with him and made him walk, like a respectable person.

They didn't mind walking down the dirt road without shoes – everyone was used to that. Anna just watched for glass and chickens, which could be mean if you got in their way.

She held Yusuf back until they got to a little café whose owner didn't mind children – even wet ones – coming in and buying on credit for their parents to pay off the next day.

The owner wasn't around, and his daughter looked at the two children with disapproval, but she gave them what they wanted. Anna was once again conscious of her age and lack of scarf, but this time, she wished she were older.

There were three people in the café, together at a table talking. There was talking in the back room, too. That was unusual. But she shook the thought from her mind.

They rested for a while, Yusuf giving in to tiredness. Finally, they got up, Anna leading Yusuf out and towards their house. She thought they should stay on land some more.

It took her a minute to realize that her brother hadn't wandered off for the moment and had actually stopped at the side of the café and was looking in one of the windows to the back room, probably wondering who was in it. She turned and glared at him, hoping he would notice.

He didn't seem to mind when he finally looked at her. "_Kak_!" he whispered, beckoning.

She hesitated. She couldn't imagine that he had found something so interesting in the back windows of an old, mostly empty café that she would want to see. Once, maybe, she might have been able to, but she was twelve years old, and she was beginning to find most of the things he liked, besides swimming, childish and silly.

"Come on!" he mouthed eagerly.

Anna sighed, rolled her eyes, and wandered back to him at a speed to tell him that she didn't _really_ care about what he saw.

"Look!" he whispered in her ear. "Can you believe it?"

Anna sighed again and looked through the dirty window. And she _was_ astonished. The owner of the café was sitting at a table with three other people – and hardly the people Anna would have expected to see.

One was an older woman whom every child in the village liked to tell stories about – frightening ones. She had been widowed long ago and had lived alone since then and was known for being rather unfriendly and an impossible person to argue with. Anna wasn't quite sure what made everyone talk about her, but they always had.

There was another woman, Sabah, much younger but also extremely stubborn, whom half the village kept away from. She refused to marry _or_ live with her parents, but what was worse to them was that she had never worn a scarf and openly showed preference for the modern world over tradition.

But Anna wasn't sure how she could be sitting calmly – they_ looked_ calm, at least – with Ishaq at the same table. Everyone knew him, too, though the adults were only just beginning to pay attention as he gained on them in age. He was almost seventeen now, and he was the fiercest person Anna knew. He held tradition as the greatest thing in the world, and he loathed anyone who slid into Western culture. It seemed like he would have killed Sabah by now, which was probably what Yusuf had wanted to show Anna.

She stood at the window for a mystified minute, sense warring with curiosity, before reminding herself that she was twelve and the elder and above spying. "Let's go," she whispered.

"Don't you wonder what they're _doing_?" Yusuf whispered back, his eyes gleaming.

"No, because it's none of our business."

"I wish I could hear what they're talking about! Don't you?"

"No, because it's none of our business," Anna repeated. She grabbed her brother's arm, but he yanked it away.

"Aren't you even _curious, kak_?"

Of course she was. "No."

"Oh, come _on_. Why'd you stop being fun?"

Anna didn't think that deserved a reply. She grabbed Yusuf's wrist firmly and pulled him away from the window.

"An-na-a," he whined, twisting away, trying to look back. But it wasn't until they were past the back wall of the building that he dug his feet into the ground and stopped.

Anna glanced backwards and saw what had interested him – the back door of the room was slightly open. Yusuf looked up at her with excitement shining in his eyes. "I dare you," he breathed.

"Oh, _no_. I won't." Whatever it was, it wasn't going to be good.

"I dare you to listen."

"Don't be an idiot," she said. "Let's go."

He just grinned at her. She clenched her hands into fists. She was curious, and he knew it.

Little brothers were _so_ annoying.

* * *

And she didn't even know what they were talking about. Only half the words meant something to her, and the meaning of the conversation as a whole was entirely beyond her. But they seemed to be very involved in the conversation, whatever it was, interrupting each other without courtesy.

Then, the older woman stopped suddenly and froze, as if trying to sense something just out of sight. Anna caught her breath. Ishaq looked at the woman, and the two of them jumped up at once.

Anna didn't have time to stand up. The boy grabbed her arms and pulled her in the door. She tried to twist away, but the woman said something strange, and Anna suddenly couldn't struggle anymore. Her legs wouldn't move.

She screamed then, though she knew Yusuf would not come.

"Shut up," said Ishaq sharply, shaking her slightly, but she didn't stop.

"Was there something wrong with your wards, Omar?" the woman asked the café's owner.

"Not at all," he said.

Anna took a deep breath and screamed again.

"Let her go," said Sabah to Ishaq.

Anna tried again to twist away, but Ishaq gripped her arms even harder. "She was spying on us."

"She shouldn't have gotten anywhere near," said the café's owner. "The wards should have turned anyone who isn't a wizard away from the door. Not the window, maybe, but they can't hear from the window."

"You can let go of her now," said the woman. "She won't leave."

Ishaq hesitated before reluctantly releasing Anna. She stopped screaming – she didn't want him to think letting her go hadn't been worth it – but backed away against the wall. _God, please help me,_ she thought. They were crazy!

"Nadira isn't a wizard," said Ishaq gruffly. Of course he would use her other name. "Anna" was western.

"Nadira?" asked the woman.

"I'm Anna, _Ibu_," Anna said.

"Anna, then." She turned away. "She was listening. The wards didn't discourage her. She isn't a wizard, but she might be ready to be one."

"_Nadira_?" Ishaq snorted.

"How can you ever tell?" asked Sabah.

Anna pressed against the wall, wondering if she could run. But they'd catch her. She'd never be able to stay away from them. And each of them seemed to have half an eye on her. "What – what are you talking about?" she asked, her voice smaller and more wavering than she would have liked.

"This _is_ a way to tell," said the woman. "She came to our door even though the wards were supposed to make anyone who wasn't a wizard want desperately to go somewhere else if they got close to it. So she must have something in her that makes her like a wizard."

"What's a wizard?" Anna asked, though she didn't expect them to tell her. They obviously didn't like to talk so other people could understand. It must have been code for something, but Anna couldn't imagine what. It didn't make sense.

"So will she be a wizard? Maybe she's supposed to be?" asked Sabah. "It was an accident that I came to you."

"You were fifteen," said the café's owner. "And you wanted something. We knew you were right. And Ishaq did, too. I don't know how anyone knew _I_ was right to be a wizard, but they decided for me."

"Anyone can want something. We don't know her," Sabah said.

Want something? What sort of thing? Anna could never decide what she wanted.

"We don't need her. We have enough wizards here," said Ishaq.

"We never have enough," the café's owner replied.

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Anna, trying to make her voice loud enough to be heard.

"We should take her while she's here. Things change, and she might not be available later."

"What are you talking about?" Anna asked again, her voice finally stronger, but they still ignored her.

"She's only twelve," Ishaq pointed out.

"Twelve!" the woman said, then sighed. "Well, that makes her more powerful."

"But we don't want –"

"Who are you to say what we want?" asked the café's owner.

Anna wasn't sure whether to be grateful to Ishaq for supporting her. She knew he was only doing it because he didn't like her, but if he made them let her go, it wouldn't matter. She could only hope he would make them let her go…

"We should give her the Oath, I think," said the woman in a tone of decision. Anna pressed against the wall, holding her breath, wishing it would dissolve and let her out. She didn't like the sound of that. She knew there were _groups_ in some places… But although she could see Ishaq joining something like that, he was the only person she knew who she thought might. Certainly not Sabah. Her heart was pounding in her head and her chest hurt with tension.

"I just wish we knew her," said the café's owner. "I don't know how anyone can be sure. It was an accident."

"We'd have to erase a lot of her memory if we let her go now," Sabah said thoughtfully.

"I think we have to trust that she wouldn't have come here if she wasn't right," the woman said. The man nodded.

Anna felt like she was watching from the ceiling, separate from her panicking body, empty of pain and calmer, but helpless.

"All right, then." The café's owner turned to her. "Anna."

"Nadira," Ishaq corrected.

"Full name?" asked the woman.

"Nadira binti Ahmad," said Ishaq.

"Anna or Nadira?" asked the woman.

Anna looked at them from too far a distance to answer. She could feel her heart still, but the rest of her body was gone from her control.

"She's terrified," said Sabah, taking a step forwards with concern on her face. "We haven't explained anything. She probably thinks we're plotting to kill Americans or something."

Ishaq snorted. "Of course she doesn't. She's not stupid enough to think we're that stupid. Anyway, they're fine as long as they stay on _their_ side of the world."

Ishaq's anger and opinion of her thoughts brought Anna back to her body with a jolt, as if waking up from a half-asleep dream. "Anna _or_ Nadira. What's a wizard?"

"Anna Nadira binti Ahmad," the woman decided, ignoring her question.

The older woman and man stood side by side looking at Anna. She pressed against the wall again, her heart beating in her throat. "Repeat," said the woman.

Her lips moved to the question again, _what's a wizard,_ but she didn't manage to make a sound.

"In Life's name."

"They're not even going to explain?" Sabah asked Ishaq in horror.

"Did they explain for you? They hardly told _me_ anything." He snorted. "It's _always_ been like this. We can't make them change, even if it's unfair." His face twisted in the derision Anna was used to seeing in protest to new ideas, not tradition.

"In Life's name," the woman repeated.

Anna looked at the two younger ones and managed to whisper, "_Bang_ Ishaq…"

"I'm not your brother," the older boy snarled, possibly embarrassed to be caught wanting change. "Though," he added with a touch of thoughtfulness and regret, "I may be your cousin."

"_Kakak_?" she whispered to Sabah.

"It's all right," said the young woman gently. "We're not terrorists; we do what is asked by God."

"In Life's name."

"Say it," said Sabah. There was pressure behind her words.

"In Life's name," Anna whispered.

"And for Life's sake."

Anna looked at Sabah's eyes and Ishaq's bowed head one last time.

"Say it," said Sabah.

"And for Life's sake." Her voice shook. She hadn't cried in public in years, but her eyes were too full now.

"I assert that I will employ the Art which is its gift."

"What?"

"I assert that I will employ the Art which is its gift."

"I – I assert that I will em-employ the Art – Art? – which is its gift?"

"In Life's service alone, rejecting all other usages."

"In Life's service al-alone, re-rejecting all other usages."

Sabah smiled at her and mouthed, "Don't cry."

"I will guard growth and ease pain."

Anna wiped her eyes. What did all this mean? It sounded good. It felt good somehow. But what did it mean?

"I wi-will guard growth and ease pain," she whispered.

And what about the pain they were giving her now?

"I will fight to fight to preserve what grows and lives well in its own way."

"I will fight…"

The words moved to something she could understand. And it sounded good, but she still didn't understand what she was really swearing to, and she wasn't confident that she could do what she was saying, or make the choices of what would be right if she was asked. But how she would be asked she didn't know.

"Looking always towards the Heart of Time."

"What?" She turned to the younger two again.

"Timeheart," said Ishaq quietly. "Like Heaven."

So this _was_ religious. She hesitated.

"Looking always towards the Heart of Time," the woman said stonily.

"Looking always towards – towards the Heart of Time?"

"Where all our sundered times are one."

This was insane. Sabah was mouthing, "Say it," and Anna felt that she had to continue. "Where all our sundered times are one?"

"And all our myriad worlds lie whole."

"And all our myriad worlds lie whole." What _was_ this?

"In That from Which they proceed."

It felt strangely like the world was holding its breath. Sabah closed her eyes and the woman looked down for the first time. Anna opened her mouth.

Something came over her then, and she realized that, of all her time in this room, this was the first moment that she could choose.

She didn't know what it was. Curiosity, maybe, but more, too. A feeling that there hadn't been anything for the wizards to worry about, that things were right. That she would come to be glad she had done this.

She said aloud, "In That from Which they proceed."

The air began to move again. The four wizards looked up. Three smiled at her, and Ishaq gave her another thoughtful look, but this one without regret. "You're a wizard, _Adik_," he said.

"I'm not your little sister," Anna snapped, coming back to herself. Finally, she found the courage to run for the door. Nobody stopped her. She kept running, not watching where her bare feet went, running in desperation.

What had she sworn herself to? What was she in now? What did all this _mean_?

"Anna!"

It was Yusuf's voice. Yusuf, who had sent her in there and not bothered to see what happened to her. "Where were _you_?" she shouted over her shoulder without slowing, bitter for being left and for the realization that, whatever this was that she was part of now, they would never be able to be as close as they had been before.

"Anna!" She could hear the fear in his voice this time, but that didn't slow her. She was furious. She was tiring already from running so fast, but the pain felt good, reflecting the pain inside her.

What had she done?

She was running to the water, she realized. She hesitated for an instant to find the pier she usually used and raced to the end, pulling on her goggles. She leapt into the water.

Here, she felt a wash of relief cross her. She took a deep breath but didn't go far under, realizing that she was too tired to use one breath for very long.

She looked around. A school of bright fish saw her and abruptly turned in the other direction to escape the large, strange creature that had just appeared. A larger, striped fish decided it didn't mind her motionless body and floated by. She smiled.

_What's a wizard?_ she wondered, and her smile faded.

She surfaced for breath and came back down to look around again. There was a small male stingray swimming along the bottom a little way to the right of her. She saw a turtle floating, watching her.

She opened her lips a little. _What's a wizard?_ she asked again.

She could have sworn the stingray stopped just to look at her, and the fish, too. The turtle stretched its neck up a little, looking right at her. _A wizard,_ the ocean said, _Is someone who takes care of us all._

**

* * *

Well? Was it any good? I'd rather hear that you didn't like it than wonder why I'm not getting any reviews, so be honest, please.**

**I have been having trouble getting motivation for writing, so don't expect another story for three to four months. I'll try to write another in that time.**


	5. Curiosity

**Well, here I am again.**

**Thanks, as always, to all my reviewers: creamsoda92, Kalyra Shadowdancer, Second daughter of Eve, Issac Blast, Paulabookworm, and OrionThe Hunter. You are all wonderful.**

**This chapter is for DSK. Thank you for the idea. I didn't come up with any amazing ideas for a deaf wizard, but I hope you enjoy it.**

**Thanks also to E-gor the Undead for helping me with the sign language and betaing a bit, even if I only listened to half her suggestions. (When are **_**you**_** going to write a YW story?) And thanks always to my main beta, Xrai.**

**

* * *

Curiosity**

_

* * *

It was her birthday yesterday_, one of the girls said.

_Why didn't she say so?_ asked the other.

_I don't know. She's odd, isn't she?_

A third girl, one who had known Jenna in elementary school, stood with her face turned deliberately toward Jenna and said slowly, _She can see what you're saying, you know._

Jenna turned away. She didn't want to see the girls' surprised reactions to the fact that that being deaf didn't mean she didn't know what they said.

There were so many people who hadn't known any deaf person before middle school had started two months ago. And two months hadn't been long enough for them to learn. They treated her like a child – until she got the highest test score in the class. Then, they couldn't figure out how she had done it.

She tried to hide her test scores. Her teachers – the other teachers, the ones that had taught her and her parents sign language and how to cope with things – said she should be proud of her differences. She was smart and she liked to learn. Those things were good, not bad. She couldn't hear, but she could understand a conversation across a noisy room, and she knew how it felt to be left out, which helped her to be more understanding. Besides, so many people wanted so much to be different but were afraid of trying. She shouldn't be like that.

Well, maybe she just wanted to be with people more like her. In any way. Some days, she hated school. Sometimes, she felt like she was the only one who wanted to learn. So what if she didn't want to be with these people?

And what if she _didn't_ want to tell them that it had been her birthday yesterday? They would ask how old she was, and she didn't need to tell them that she was turning fourteen. They would want to know why, since she was so smart, she had been held back. She didn't need to tell them that her verbal skills hadn't been good enough for her to start kindergarten when she was five. They didn't need to know.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder. The nice girl. _Don't worry,_ she said. _They'll learn._

"Thanks," Jenna said.

She was happy to go home. Today hadn't been a good day. Her birthday had been all right, but its passing had only left her depressed.

Her mother greeted her in sign language, a relief after a day of lip-reading. Her hearing aids only gave her vague noise. They were the best possible, but they didn't give any help in understanding people.

She pulled away from her mother to the computer, where her friends lived, as her parents joked. Well, so they didn't live _in_ it, but they were unreachable anyway. They lived around the world. Most of them were deaf also, so they could sympathize with her better than anyone she knew in real life.

Her parents had promised her a laptop for her birthday. The fact that it hadn't come yet only added to her unhappiness. She would be able to carry it places. She could bring it to school. Things would be easier then. She wouldn't be allowed to use the internet, so she couldn't chat with her friends during lunch or free time – she _wouldn't _do it during lessons – but she would appreciate it for social reasons, anyway. She had been told that mechanical voices sounded less odd than hers, so she could use a program to talk to the class. She would type in the words she wanted said and the computer would say them. She could answer questions without embarrassment.

Except that she would get carried away and want to answer more than was socially acceptable. But she was burning to be able to talk more easily. To just type her thoughts in and…

Her mother was waiting for her to notice that she was watching her. When she looked up, her mother signed, Do you want to know if it has come?

Jenna grinned and jumped up, nodding.

I thought you would go to your room first_,_ her mother added, smiling back.

Jenna ran to her room. She stopped at her door and looked at the box, too full of happiness to think.

* * *

Jenna and her parents spent the afternoon and evening setting up the computer and figuring out how to use its functions. Her father said she was in love with a laptop. She just grinned at him. She thought the laptop was beautiful.

Finally, her parents told her she had to do her homework. She did the math work quickly and science even more quickly. She didn't mind that she did it so much more easily than her classmates usually did – not today. She was happy.

She turned back to her laptop and just looked at it. There was so much for her to figure out how to do. She wanted to know everything about it.

Suddenly, Jenna noticed something strange. The logo was wrong. She could have sworn that it had been normal before she had done her homework. She would have noticed it before. But now the apple was whole, without the bite out of it.

Jenna stared at it. What on Earth had happened? She had never seen something like this. Was it a trick? She closed the top partway to see the logo on the back – it was the same. _Surely_ she would have seen that before.

Curious, she opened the internet browser to see if anything had changed.

The page that came up was not one she had ever seen before. It was black and covered with some strange alphabet in silver. The only English on it was a green word in the middle of the page: Welcome.

It looked like a link. Jenna pushed the arrow up to it, but she stopped herself just in time and sat on her hand to make sure she would think before she did anything.

_Curiosity killed the cat_ was one of the first sayings her teachers had taught her. She had objected to the violence of it, probably because she had thought this meant she would die. Her teachers insisted that she remember it.

She had to think about this. You could get all sorts of bad things from going to websites that might not be trustworthy. She didn't know _what_ this was.

But the worry was that something would infect the computer. And the computer was the first thing Jenna had noticed being wrong. So that hardly seemed to be appropriate.

She knew that she should ask her father what to do. But she knew that he wouldn't let her look until he had figured out what was going on – if that ever happened. And she couldn't wait to see this.

Curiosity killed the cat. Yes, but…

Maybe resisting was worse. She clicked on it.

_

* * *

Wait a minute. I don't believe this, do I?_ Jenna wondered.

But it was all so _logical_. Maybe it called itself magic, but it sounded like science to her. And she loved science.

And she had seen the funny logo. She had noticed things changing. Something here was real.

It was crazy. How could all this exist without anyone knowing?

Nobody knew anything. All she had to do was look at the news to realize that. All she had to do was look around her. Not even scientists knew anything. _She_ would never know anything this way.

_What do I want?_ she wondered.

_I want to know if it's real._

_I know it's real. I saw this screen pop up. I can see the logo. What do I _really_ want?_

_To learn? To learn what science can't tell me. To learn the answers to my questions._

_Is it worth that?_

She looked back at her website. Someone had known she was coming. Surely not everyone wanted to read about how to cast spells without being able to trust her mouth. There was a kind of sign language to go with written spells. She would have a new language and two new alphabets to learn, then – the Speech, the written Speech, and the sign language Speech – but she needed it. Better, she could sign to her computer, and it could answer – even use its speaking program. She was glad she had demanded such an easily portable computer.

A new sign language. A new written language. A new spoken language to lip-read. A new way to learn. A new world.

It was _real_.

_Am I brave enough?_ she wondered.

Was that even a question? _I go to school every day. I'm alone there, but I go. I live with people who leave me out of everything. I _can't_ join them._

_If that doesn't make someone brave, I don't want to be brave._

The Oath was written in full and then in a simplified version that followed the grammar of American Sign Language, Jenna's language.

_What do I want?_ she wondered.

_I don't think I know._

_Maybe I'll find out. Right now, I'm _curious.

_After all, I'm supposed to celebrate that little bit of uniqueness._

_In._ Her hands moved, the fingers of her left hand going inside the ring made by her right hand. Her lips moved, her throat silent. _Name._ She tapped the first two fingers of each hand together. _Of._ An O, then an F. Then, two L signs, moving up – _Life._

**

* * *

I plan to write at least three more stories in this series. I will, of course, write more, or write about some Ordeals, if you review and give me ideas. Yes, you!**

**I now have an announcement, after a bit of promised "public humiliation".**

**After I wrote the last story-chapter, I held off posting it because Issac Blast had promised to do something and I wanted to announce it in that chapter. Finally, I decided that I couldn't keep waiting for him, so I posted. And a good thing, too, because he only just came through with his promise.**

**Here is his apology (hey, this is "public humiliation"):**

I'm not going to bother sucking up. This is beyond apology. I have violated your patience past the point anyone deserves to suffer… and you didn't deserve to suffer at all. I just started sucking up, didn't I? damn...

**Issac Blast is a procrastinator and suck-up and he writes too-short stories. So **_**there**_**. *sticks out tongue***

**Anyway, I can't be too mad because he compliments me, both outright and by imitation. Issac Blast is, like me, writing a group of one-shots. His is called **_**Granted**_**, and he borrowed Miriam and Will for his second story. It is extremely short, but it's good! I hope all of you will read it and review. There aren't enough reviews on **_**Granted**_** yet, so you need to add some. If you want to read a little more about Miriam and Will, please go find **_**Granted**_** right now!**

**Speaking of that, reviews are the only pay we can get for posting stories here, so please write at least a few words about whether you liked my story or not!**


	6. Rebellion

**Thanks to my reviewers: Second Daughter of Eve, creamsoda92, redflame1020, Issac Blast, Kalyra Shadowdancer, Emily, and Uniasus!  
**

**(To Emily: thank you very much for reviewing.**** Yes, I know about the 9th book. I hope we all do.**** Issac Blast did change to allow anonymous reviews. Most of us don't realize that blocking anonymous reviews is the default until someone points it out. I think you should get an account, but who am I to tell people what to do?)  
**

**In case people wonder, wizardry does not commonly come to twelve and thirteen-year-olds, so I'm trying to balance out the ages and choose older people from now on. In Florida and other states, the driving age is (unfortunately for road safety) sixteen. (I still don't drive.)**

**Warning: mild swearing.**

**

* * *

Rebellion**

Greg slammed his door, wishing it had a lock on it. And, better, a sound screen so he wouldn't have to hear his parents yelling at him.

No such luck. His father yanked the door open. "Greg –"

"Go away!"

"You know you're sixteen and –"

"Leave me alone!"

"– you're the oldest and –"

"Maybe I'm old enough to make my own choices!"

"You're still living here, and you have a responsibility –"

"Get out!"

"Gregory, you don't –"

In another room, Zach started crying, and Mandy yelled, "Oh, for God's sake! Just _stop_ it!"

Dad glared at Greg, and Greg knew he wasn't going to get his pay this week – the _tiny_ pay he got for driving Zach and Mandy everywhere and spending all his life outside school taking care of them.

Dad left. His silence was more dangerous than shouting.

"It's my damn life," Greg growled to himself.

"Can't you just –" Mandy began.

"Oh, get out," Greg snapped, pushing the door half-closed – her hand was on the frame and he didn't want to hurt her. "Wait a couple of years 'til I'm gone. And a couple more years 'til you can drive. They only had you so _you_ could take care of Zach when I'm grown up and _gone_."

"Shut up," said Mandy and turned away in embarrassment, twelve years old and too sweet for insults.

"Greg!" Mom shouted. "Don't talk to your sister like that!"

"I'm not doing anything! I'm just telling the truth! _She's_ the one who told _me_ to shut up."

Mandy left his doorway and he slammed the door again.

It was true. And he had to get Mandy used to it so she wouldn't be surprised when she was supposed to take care of Zach – surprised like he had been. She was Mom's darling now, the princess, but in two years…

Greg knew it. His parents had chosen to have a third child when their first was only four and their second was two and had Downs Syndrome. Why else would they have made that choice unless it was to take care of Zach when Greg couldn't or wouldn't? It was only right to get her ready.

They only loved her for now. The moment Greg left for college, she would be Zach's babysitter, and the moment she was fifteen, she would learn to drive, and the moment she was sixteen, she would turn into Zach's chauffeur. Same as with him. Minus two years of babysitting and a little sister.

Almost the same.

So there, _princess_.

* * *

Running away. That sounded like a nice idea, but Greg only had $231.23, and he was only sixteen, and…

_Damn it._

Greg shoved his blanket aside with his foot. He'd never run away. He wasn't like that.

_I don't hate Zach. Not even Mandy, since she's only twelve. I guess. But definitely not Zach. He doesn't even understand._

_Damn._ Guilt was even worse than slavery.

He didn't go out for dinner. He didn't want to see any of them. He just lay on his bed and wondered if he would be trapped forever.

* * *

Greg sneaked into Mandy's room while the rest of his family was eating dinner. Her walls were white, but everything else was pink or lacy or something like that. Little princess. She was free to enjoy herself because _he_ was around to take the responsibility. Wait until he left.

There was a book lying half under her pink bedspread. Many left things lying around? Maybe she was trying to hide it. He grinned at the thought and grabbed it on a whim.

He could hear the rest of his family happily talking together – happy because _he_, complaining, angry, annoying Greg, wasn't around.

He ran back to his room and fell onto his bed, wishing for something to help him.

He used to believe in wishes.

* * *

Zach came to Greg's room before bed. Greg sent him out. He was too damned sweet, and Greg did _not_ need more guilt.

He turned out the light, but once he saw the hallway go dark, he turned it back on. Bored, frustrated, he found the book he had stolen from Mandy's room. He wondered if she was wondering where it was now.

He grinned again.

* * *

This wasn't Mandy's book. It was fantasy. He read that – or used to – but she didn't. And it was too complicated for her age.

Which was strange. It was way too complicated. As much as Tolkien, and better organized than that.

He would have heard of this before.

Weird.

And what had it been doing in Mandy's room, anyway?

_Waiting for me to think I was stealing from her and pick it up._

_Stupid,_ he thought. _No book has a brain. No magic is coming to sweep me away from this._

He closed the book and turned off the light.

But his hand crept back to the book.

What if it was real?

God, wouldn't that be perfect. He'd still be with his parents, taking care of Zach for two more years, but he would have something for himself.

A secret.

A secret they would hate.

The best rebellion against his parents that he could imagine.

He grinned in the darkness.

_A nice dream, isn't it?_

The best rebellion _ever_.

He grabbed the book and turned the light back on.

At least he could try.

Because it was _perfect_.

**

* * *

Yes, I am aware that this is the shortest chapter yet, by a long way.**

**I'm mildly surprised at how long this has gone on. When I posted the last chapter, I was sure I couldn't do more than three or four more stories, but now, I think I can do at least six. Maybe. If I don't feel like I'm repeating myself. Ideas are still welcome, along with reviews.**

**P.S. Since most of you have me on story alert rather than author alert, here is your notification that I wrote another YW story, "Not My Fault."**


	7. Twins

**Thanks to my reviewers: OrionTheHunter, Second daughter of Eve, Kalyra Shadowdancer, ariex, and the mysterious one. I **_**don't**_** know who You Know Who is, so I would appreciate that person coming forward, but that was a very nice review. Response for ariex at the end.**

**A twychild at last! I always loved twins. Note: The Errantry Concordance, in its extremely short article on twichildren, implies that they must be fraternal twins, but I remember differently.**

**No. The names were not chosen for the nicknames. I didn't even realize that until the second draft.**

**

* * *

Twins**

"Snow!" yelled Aileen, pulling the blanket off Bridget.

Bridget grabbed the blanket back, but she looked up hopefully. "No school?"

"No school," Aileen agreed.

"Great. Good night."

* * *

Aileen raised her eyebrows when her sister walked into the kitchen. "I thought you were going to sleep all day, Bridge."

"I got bored, _Aisle_." Bridget fell into the chair across the table from Aileen. "I'm still bored," she added after an appropriate pause.

Aileen rolled her eyes, then admitted, "So am I."

"You? Why? Isn't the internet up? The heat's on, thank God."

"Sure it's on. That's not the _only_ thing I do."

"That and write _fanfiction_."

Aileen frowned and stood up to take her bowl to the dishwasher. "You used to like reading."

"Reading. Not fanfiction. It's like you think you're better than the author."

"I don't think that. But the author didn't write about everything, and –"

"Let's not argue, Aisle," said Bridget. "I'm not _that _bored."

Aileen laughed. "Fine. What are _you_ going to do? No school, no homework – I hope, because you told Mom you were done – probably no friends to see, no running. Just me to argue with."

"We used to like snow days," Bridget complained as she got up to get cereal. "We used to have fun together."

"Before you started track and got so many new friends," Aileen grumbled.

Bridge put her bowl on the counter more loudly than she had to. "That is _not_ true. It started before that. And don't forget that _you_ like to stay in your room on your computer or reading books. You could try going _outside_ once in a while. You might even like track."

"Don't be stupid, Bridge. I'd be a charity case, and everyone – even you – would get to say how good you were to help me out."

"Well, if you don't want to do anything I do, at least you could –"

"I have friends, and I do _not_ stay in my room all the time!"

"Girls," said a weary voice from the stairs.

"Hi, Mom," Aileen said absentmindedly, all visible annoyance vanishing. She closed the dishwasher and walked past her mother to go back upstairs.

* * *

Bridget flopped onto her bed.

"I'm bored," she and Aileen complained together.

"Twins," Bridget said, their parents' response to the times they spoke together.

"We used to do that a lot," said Aileen sadly. "We were really twins back then. All we were missing was telepathy."

Bridget sighed too deeply.

"You know what I mean."

"So why gloom over it? Can't we just _like_ spending time together, whether or not we think the same thoughts?"

"That would be nice, too."

"Come on, then. Let's do something." Their mother had left, since the snow had been cleared enough that she could go to work even though the school day stayed cancelled. They were alone in the house.

"Like what?"

"Bridget yawned and stood up. She opened their closet door and pulled down some of their old board games.

Aileen giggled, looking at one. "Remember this? We used to love this."

"Hm," said Bridget. "Let's play."

"It would be way too easy."

"Well, let's, for the memories."

"I wish," said Aileen as they set it up, "that there was some way we could know we'd really be together forever."

"Together how? You know, being identical twins doesn't make us the same person. Even Siamese twins have two different minds."

"Friends, at least."

"We're friends."

"Are we?"

"You move first."

They only got six moves into the game before they were bored again. Games better suited to fourteen-year-olds didn't work much better.

They ended up back on their beds, lying silent and bored.

The Voice started then.

They didn't notice it at first. Half asleep, the Voice didn't seem strange. They listened without thinking.

Until Bridget sat up and asked, "Did you say something?"

"No." Aileen shook herself awake. "You weren't talking? It seems like someone was, and I wasn't listening. I _thought_ someone was."

"So did I."

They both sat up and looked at each other.

The Voice was still there, a half-real sound they couldn't quite comprehend.

"This is weird," said Bridget, sliding back to the wall.

"It's like a sound that isn't there," whispered Aileen, unable to find words that made sense. She felt like a failure of a writer.

"Is this what telepathy sounds like?" Bridget joked weakly, feeling just as helpless as her sister.

Aileen couldn't answer. In the silence between them, the Voice became clear, and they understood what It had been telling them for the past half hour.

They ran to each other, almost colliding in the middle of the room, and sat together with their backs against Bridget's bed and their arms around each other.

"This is…" Aileen whispered and found that there were truly no words for it.

"Oh, my God," Bridget answered.

Yes, this _was_ about God, the Voice told them.

"It hears us," said Bridget.

"We're dreaming," Aileen decided.

"No, we're not," Bridget countered.

"Books. This belongs in books."

"We're not dreaming."

"It can't be…"

The twins tried to squeeze closer together and found that they were as close as they could get.

"Someone's playing a trick on us," Aileen declared. "Has to be."

"Can't be."

"It can't be _real_."

"It _has_ to be real."

They whimpered together.

"Okay," whispered Bridget. The Voice was still talking, but not clearly. They thought they would understand what it said suddenly, as they had before. "So there is something like a voice in our heads that is telling us about wizards. Is that what it's telling you?"

Aileen nodded.

"We know we're awake. Even twins can't hallucinate together, so that's not it. Nobody could put this voice in our heads – it's impossible. Right?"

Aileen nodded.

"So it's real."

"It can't be," Aileen moaned.

"It can't be anything else."

"What do we do?"

"I don't know."

"Listen to it?"

"I guess we do."

So the Voice sang to them about wizardry and twins. Twychild. The word was new to them, but the idea was as old as thought. They had discussed it often enough when they had both enjoyed fantasy stories.

But it was beyond believing.

"Okay, so let's assume it's all true for the moment," said Bridget when they couldn't listen anymore. "What should we do?"

"We _should_ take the Oath," Aileen answered. "It's right for the world if we do."

"Do you _want_ to?"

"Yeah! Don't you? We'd be able to try to fix things, and we could do magic, and we really would be one person."

"One person," Bridget repeated.

"Wouldn't you want to do it?"

"I guess it is right to do. And I guess it might be fun – but how scary? Think about that. And do we _want_ to be one person?"

"Scary, hard, but worth it."

"Nobody wants to read about the story where the hero fails, but they happen. It's _not_ always all right in the end."

"We can _try_."

"We can. And we'd never be able to lose each other again."

They looked at each other.

"Assuming it's true," Bridget added.

"It's true," Aileen whispered.

They shivered against each other.

"How do we choose?"

"We just do it."

They looked at each other.

"Do you want to?"

"Yes, I do. _We_ do."

"We do."

They took a deep breath together and began, "In Life's name…"

**

* * *

Okay, this is the second shortest story so far. Sorry about that. It didn't feel short when I was writing it.**

**Reviews are much appreciated.**

Ariex:

Thank you very much for all your reviews! I really appreciate that you took the time to do that.

1. I don't think any of them know what they're getting into…

2. Thanks! I'm positive that wizardry will change her opinions. I think just knowing that her foster siblings are wizards starts to change her by the end of the story.

3. Miriam will be a very good influence on him. I wouldn't say that his parents/teachers are jerks, but they assumed a lot of things and didn't make sure they were right.

4. Part of my point in Anna's story was to show that opinions are different in different parts of the world. That's the way they consider wizardry. It isn't right, but _they_ were pulled in the same way, so they feel like it's right. You can see that kind of thought process in a lot of traditions.

5. "She had been told that mechanical voices sounded less odd than hers" – she can talk, just badly.

6. Merry found her book in her house. That doesn't mean her parents are wizards. Will found his on the bus. That doesn't mean the bus driver is a wizard. As far as I can tell, they show up where they think you'll take them.

No, the ninth book is not yet out. I'm not sure when it is coming.

Not My Fault: If you think that everything the Lone Power says, even in a situation when It seems to be telling you what it's really thinking, is completely true, you need a reality check.

And get an account so I can answer you directly!


	8. Invisible Girl

**Been a while, huh? Original fiction is taking up a lot of my time, as it should be. So is youtube, as it should not be.**

**Thanks to my reviewers!**

**You Know Who: **_**Do**_** I know you?**

**Emily: No, it wasn't a good idea of Greg's, but people get things wrong all the time. Especially annoyed teenagers. I'm glad you liked the twins, though! On The Wizard's Manual: Well, I asked the Emily I based that character on, and she said she hasn't been reading my stories, so I assume I don't know you, unless you're lying. Why don't you get an account so I can answer your reviews?**

**I actually wrote this before the next, but I think it works better in this order. The two chapters are about two girls who choose wizardry for about the same reason, though they and the causes of their problems are very different.**

**I got the name and an idea or two from a song by a singer I liked when I was little, which I'll put some of the lyrics to at the end.**

**Invisible Girl**

_I'm never good enough._

Sky retreated to her room. Again, her father was unimpressed, no matter how hard she tried.

Some people told her it was because he was Chinese, and Chinese people didn't value girls – but that wasn't true. He was not Chinese. His parents were Chinese. He was American. He hardly even spoke Chinese. That was definitely not the reason.

Some people said that it was because she reminded him of her mother, but she looked at pictures of her mother and saw no resemblance to her in that Caucasian face.

No, it was just Sky. She had started out neither as smart nor as outgoing as her brother, and now that she tried to reform, he would not see it.

She was invisible to him, and to the rest of the world.

* * *

Almost.

"Jeremy, would you please bring Sky down to Earth?" Sky's history teacher asked.

Heat rushed to Sky's cheeks, and she sat up, furious that she had been caught daydreaming _again_. Her eyes flicked to the clock. Twenty more minutes before the weekend. At least she'd be away from these people. She could almost look forward to the escape.

"Sky's off in the clouds again," one of the other boys joked.

The rest of the class laughed, too, each student probably thanking divinity that the teacher had chosen someone else to tease.

Sky's hands clenched under her desk. She couldn't find anything to defend herself with. Not against thirty people.

She wished she could truly be invisible.

After school, Sky ran to the city bus rather than the school bus. Her brother would scold her, but even if she didn't get back before her father got home, he wouldn't remember the offense for more than five minutes. It was worth it.

She got off at the library and turned right, to the children's section. She stopped at the librarian's desk.

"Hi," the woman said. "Want to read today?"

Sky nodded and grinned.

The librarian gave her a picture book, and she read through it quickly, then sat on one of the beanbags and called to the nearest kids, "Want to hear a story? It's a really good one. Come here."

One of the girls ran to her immediately and sat at her feet. "I'm first."

Sky had never been first at that age. "We're all doing it together. It's more fun that way."

A boy had to be pushed by his mother. Another couldn't seem to decide whether listening to a fifteen-year-old girl was okay for boyhood, but he came, too.

"I'm Sky." She grinned at them, not ashamed of her crooked teeth that her father didn't think needed braces. "What's your name?"

Two others came before she started, and a sixth in the middle. They sat quietly and listened to her as she read, coming up with different voices for each character, pausing when she needed suspense, showing the picture at the end of each page.

When she finished, one started clapping, then the rest. They wanted another.

Sky was glad that she was not invisible.

* * *

Sky's mother had died when Sky was three years old and her brother, Adam, had been five. It had been an accident, unexpected.

Adam had been the right age and smart and attention-loving enough to play the part of a bereft child. He had cried and asked for Mommy. He had put on a brave face when he needed one. He had let himself be dressed up and comforted as the adults wished. They – and there were many friends and relatives – had loved him and given him all the attention he craved.

Sky had quickly learned that crying or trying to find Mommy would cause a group of strangers to surround her, talk to her, try to hug her, and tell her that everything was okay, which by definition meant that something scary was happening and she might think things were _not_ okay. If she stayed quiet, one or two people at a time would come, and they usually didn't worry whether she was all right, and they would act normally. But some strange people still came, so she tried to make herself even less noticeable.

She perfected that invisibility over the next few years.

School had come not long after her mother had died. Adam loved school, so Sky had been excited. But it turned out to be full of strangers who acted silly and made her do things she didn't want to do. Hiding became useful there, too. When someone came to play with her, and came again later, she knew that was a nice person. The others didn't care about her, so they weren't nice.

Later, she had started academic work. She had realized that her father was disappointed in her already for not having gotten ahead. She held back, since if she didn't try, she wouldn't fail. She had tried to learn things on her own, but she disappointed herself. She barely did well enough to not make her teachers worry, even in reading.

She got to fifth grade graduation before she realized that she had _truly_ disappointed her father. But it was too late.

She used to have friends. People found her in the corner and played with her. They listened to her read. They even sometimes invited her to their houses. But each one moved on. Shy newcomers made her their first friend at the school, but they found others in time. It happened again and again. She couldn't hold onto them. She was water, weak and easy to pass through. Transparent.

People still talked to her, but they never invited her anywhere. She never met someone outside of school except for group projects, and that was usually at the library. Only the new students shared anything with her. By the second quarter of the year, she would always be eating lunch alone.

Even the little kids who loved her were just visitors. Some remembered her week after week, but only as the girl who held the books. There was nothing there.

She couldn't change it. She didn't know how. She was fifteen years old and in ninth grade and had no idea how to make friends.

She was nothing.

* * *

Dad wanted to know if Adam was done with his homework before he went to a friend's house Saturday morning. Adam lied. Sky knew it. She didn't say so.

Dad didn't ask if Sky was finished. She was.

She rode the bus to the library and read for two hours. She watched the kids run off, happy that some girl had spent time with them, wanting to see their friends.

This time, Sky was left feeling even more depressed. When she had been their age, she'd had friends, and she hadn't known that she couldn't hold onto anyone.

_Who am I if nobody knows who I am?_ she wondered. _How can you exist when nobody sees you? When they all pass by you? What is a person who nobody knows? Am I even a person?_

She hated this feeling, coming like a strange waking dream as she watched people move around her, every person connected to other people while she was alone, adrift, invisible.

Reality seemed to slip away. She was afraid, and she wanted something or someone to hold onto so she could find out who or where she was, but nothing but empty ocean moved around her.

Maybe she would drown.

It was all her fault. She had made herself this way. She had pulled herself to the side, fallen back from her group.

The loneliness was overpowering.

_Nobody knows who I am, nobody sees me, so how can I know anything? Be anything?_

"Sky?" the librarian asked.

Sky pulled herself back to the library and hid her thoughts. "Yes?"

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Why?"

"You looked distracted. Sad."

"No, I'm fine."

"Is everything all right? Is something going on – at home or school?"

"No, nothing's going on. I'm fine."

The librarian shrugged. "All right. Go find a book – it'll cheer you up. The right book always helps."

Sky nodded and turned to the children's bookshelves. Only after the librarian went back to her desk did she realize that she had agreed that something was wrong that books could fix.

She signed to herself. What if she had admitted what she felt? No, she couldn't describe all this. She'd come out sounding disorganized and silly.

She wondered what it would have been like if she'd had her mother. Another female to talk to. No reason to learn to hide. Someone to love her. No reason for her father to turn away. She would have been _real_.

Someday, would she forget herself like people forgot her?

She could escape in books, but wasn't that the beginning of escaping for good – in insanity?

She turned suddenly, a title catching her eye. _So You Want to be a Wizard_. Hadn't she seen that one before? Maybe someone had recommended it. She didn't think she'd read it yet. She pulled it out and looked for some more books to join it.

* * *

When she came home, Dad didn't say anything to her or even look up for more than a moment.

She decided to read the wizard book first. It felt like she should start there.

She was slightly surprised by the style, but she had read books that took themselves this seriously. What she found odder was its depth. Who would invent something like this? And what in the world was it doing in the children's section?

She was a hundred pages in before she started worrying.

Who would write this? What was going _on_?

_Is this even real?_ Sky wondered. But what else? She couldn't hallucinate a whole book – or all these details – could she? She knew s he should ask someone else whether it as real, but there was nobody to ask.

She closed the book and put her head in her hands. _I'm finally going crazy._

But really… how could she create all this?

So what was going on?

Sky could have used advice, or comfort. But that didn't exist.

When she thought of accepting the book, she was terrified of what it would mean about either her sanity or the structure of the universe. But when she thought of casting it away, other, older fears rose.

One day, would she simply cease to exist? When nobody would notice the difference anymore, would she just not _be_ there anymore? She knew it was a crazy thought, but she couldn't get rid of it.

She needed something to anchor and define her, so she would stop being a _nothing_. So she could stop having to be invisible.

But if it wasn't real…

She risked losing herself either way. But she had to choose.

_I'll take the chance and see what happens,_ she thought.

She found that all-important Oath she'd read earlier, and she spoke the words.

And nothing happened.

She had not known that she had enough emotion left to be so disappointed.

* * *

Nothing happened the next day, either. She stayed in her room and read a different book to try to forget what hadn't happened. But she couldn't stop remembering it.

The next day was school. Sky knew how to behave, how to keep herself apart and safe.

But they were starting a project in English, and it was a group project. It was more difficult to hide when she had to work with someone. Maybe she wouldn't have to do most of the presentation, though.

She didn't have a person to choose, so she just stood and waited for everyone else to pair up.

The last person standing was, surprisingly, Elissa, who usually had friends to join. Sky didn't really want to work with her, a fairly popular girl, a gymnast, and black. Sky knew racism was wrong, but she didn't even understand the two races in her own background, let alone a third.

Elissa noticed her. Their eyes met for a moment.

Suddenly, Sky felt a connection with her, and something much greater, and she remembered the book at the bottom of her stack at home.

Elissa walked over to her. "Hi."

How did you ask if someone had found a strange book – because you had this feeling she had?

Elissa sat on one of the desks, her feet dangling. As if she were shy, she took out a book, as if to hide behind it.

She opened to a page Sky recognized and set it on the table.

Sky swallowed, looking at the Oath. She wished she'd brought her book.

"When did you get that?" she asked.

"Yesterday," Elissa said. "You?"

"Saturday." She swallowed again. "So it's real."

"Thank God," said Elissa. "And thank God it's not just me."

Sky, who didn't believe in any God she'd heard of before, but thought she might be able to believe in the One, whispered, "Thank God…"

**

* * *

The first two verses and chorus of the song, though I only really used the first one:**

**Invisible Girl ****  
copyright 2001 By Tom Knight and Christine Somerfeldt  
**

**She discovered when she was three  
The secret of invisibility  
If they didn't understand  
Or things got out of hand  
Then she could disappear completely  
**

**As she got older she made some friends  
Who could see her and not pretend  
She's smart and she is strong  
She's been here all along  
They say that seein' is believin'  
**

**Invisible Girl, Invisible Girl  
Take us into your invisible world  
What you've hidden away  
Could save the day  
We really want to see you  
Invisible Girl**


	9. Lost Girl

**Thanks to my reviewers! Wow, I think this might have more reviews than any other story in the fandom. Of course, I'm pretty sure there aren't more than three or four stories with as many chapters as this one.**

**Ariex: Oh, dear. That would be a whole new set of stories. A good idea, though – why don't you do it?**

**I'm in a bit of a gymnastics craze. The original fiction story I've been spending all my time on is about gymnastics, and half my YouTube account is about it. So I wondered how I could put it in… and came up with this idea. To be fair to gyms, who are constantly maligned in the media and movies, I don't believe any team would do this to a girl. It's cruel and rather pointless. But it's possible, and age is a definite issue in gymnastics.**

**

* * *

Lost Girl**

_I wasn't good enough._

The thought lingered in Elissa's mind all the time, surfacing occasionally to remind her why her life felt so purposeless.

She went to school and came home and talked to her friends, but she could never figure out what it was all for. Not anymore.

Half a year ago, it had never crossed her mind to wonder. She had junior high school, her friends there, gymnastics, her friends on the team, her parents, and her sister in college. She had known where she was.

But then, her coaches had decided she wasn't good enough to continue to level nine – not good enough for their highly competitive team.

Not good enough.

"We'll still see you," promised her team friends. But it wasn't the same, and when school had started, they had disappeared.

"You'll have more time for us," pointed out her school friends. But they couldn't fill her time like gymnastics had.

"Find something else to dedicate yourself to," her sister had told her.

But what?

* * *

"Elissa, stop it," complained Sheena. "We're supposed to be hanging out together. Not sulking about… whatever."

"She used to have gymnastics Saturday afternoon," pointed out Nikki.

"That was months ago. That was _spring_. You have to get over things, you know."

"Sheena, come _on_," Emma scolded. "Give her time. It was four _years_ she was on the team. _Five_ years she did gymnastics. And she only just quit entirely."

The coaches had found the kindness to offer Elissa low prices for hour-long recreational classes four times a week, but that was far from the three-hour classes with girls at her level. Even the best of the recreational girls could hardly push themselves to a handstand on the bar, and Elissa could swing herself around the high bar from handstand to handstand. What place did she have with them when she could do front and back flips, her body tucked or straight, and a cartwheel without hands?

She had quit her classes that month. It was January, the beginning of competitive season, and she didn't want to be near the gym with the team going to competitions.

Sheena answered Emma, and Elissa's friends argued around her.

If she closed her eyes, she thought the mall would disappear and her friends would be a circle, holding together around her, while she floated in the middle, not touching any of them.

In the midst of that thought, she blinked by chance or subconscious will, and she felt it for the moment of darkness – floating, nothing to hold onto.

_This is what they mean when they say someone is lost_, she thought as she followed her distant, grounded friends.

Since she had been ten years old, since level four, gymnastics had been her ground. She had been _good_ then – though her age had helped back then – moving from nowhere to level four in one year and to level six by the next.

Age worked against a gymnast in the end, and she had grown tall and lost her childish fearlessness.

And so lost her ability to win.

And so lost her place on the team and in the world.

"But please _try_ to be more cheerful," Emma whispered in her ear, touching her and offering her a handhold – for the moment. "We're friends, you know, and we don't like to see you moping."

"I'm sorry," Elissa stated.

She was. She wanted to be with them, but she didn't know how to find them.

She knew the problem. Since age ten, since before she had done much more than going to one friend's house, just her, to play games and share secrets, gym had been part of her life.

So getting together with a group on Friday or Saturday, at someone's house or a park or the mall, had been defined by that. She had thought of it as escape, almost misbehavior. It had been a treat something special and exciting.

She could have it any time now.

So what did it mean now?

"Elissa," Sheena complained again.

_What can I do?_ she wondered.

* * *

The backyard was bumpy and rough and carried hidden dangers, nothing like the floor at the gym, which you could glance at and jump on a couple of times and know all of. Gym shorts and a t-shirt were loose and baggy, not like the skintight, well-known, safe leotard. And shoes… well, that was like nothing in the gym.

Still. Floor was the last even Elissa could do.

She still remembered every routine she had done form level three to eight, the required ones in levels three to six and unique ones choreographed for her only in levels seven and eight.

But she couldn't enjoy them anymore. They reminded her of winning – and losing.

She preferred to improvise. She knew her parents could see, that they would disapprove, but she wanted to – had to – fly.

She faced the longest stretch of grass in her yard and imagined the floor and the gym…

She jumped with her arms out to the sides and legs split, one in front and one in back. She liked jumps. She jumped again, this time in a straddle split, her legs to the sides. Then, she lifted her arms over her head and pointed one sneaker-encased foot to her other knee and tried to do a full turn.

She found that it was hard enough to do a half turn, so she put her foot down and jumped again. This time, she bent both legs behind her and threw her head back to touch her shoes. Then, she jumped in a half turn to face her stretch of lawn.

She decided to dare her first tumbling pass in her level seven routine: round-off, back handspring, back layout.

She didn't pause long to think – hesitation meant points off in competition. She ran until a good spot, hurdled into a powerful kind of cartwheel, landed with her feet together, jumped backwards to her hands, then pushed off to her feet, and then jumped in a straight-bodied backflip…

She landed properly, but her shoes surprised her, and she stumbled to her knees. Points off. Lots.

"Elissa!" called her father sternly from the back door.

"What?" she answered innocently as she brushed off the dirt.

"You know what. Come on."

_Don't,_ she wanted to beg. _Don't make me stop unless you can give me something better._

She ran, but instead of simply returning to her house, she ran into an aerial cartwheel.

She landed and stuck this one.

"Elissa." Her father's voice cut off her pride at the good landing.

She followed him inside.

"Elissa, baby," said her mother, who was waiting in the kitchen. "You can't do that. You can't think of it forever."

Elissa looked at the floor.

Mom pulled her into a hug. "It wasn't your fault," she said as she had done many times before. "It's not because you started too late, or because you're black, or because they don't like you. It's just some girls were better than you were."

But it _was_ probably because she was fourteen instead of eight or ten. And even if they had left girls who were blacker than she was on the team, but how did she know that it wasn't subconscious racism? Everyone was racist. And if they really liked her, would they have made her leave? No.

"You got to stop blaming yourself. Just let it go."

* * *

Elissa wandered through the tables set up in their church for their annual used-book sale. She knew that some people let books, fantasy, be their anchor in real life, something she had always found strange. But her own sister had been like that as a teenager, when she hadn't had many friends, and Emma and other people she loved were readers. There must, she thought, be something in that.

Elissa looked at the rows and rows of books, hardly organized. She shuddered at the overwhelming amount, closed her eyes, and put her arms out.

Two books. She put them in her basket and reached out again.

She opened her eyes and looked at the four books.

Okay…

* * *

The first book was so boring that she stopped after three chapters. It was about a girl whining about a boy who was out of her reach. There were more important things in life, and this was just tiring. The second book was interesting, if weird. It was about magic, but not stupid magic that made no sense. It wasn't just waving a wand in a certain way, saying certain words, and probably meaning them – how some people could do spells and others couldn't in certain books was beyond Elissa.

This made sense. She liked it.

What creeped her out was that it seemed to be taking itself seriously.

She didn't know if that was normal. It wasn't a novel. Maybe some books were just written like this.

It was too weird for her to admit that she wanted it to be real. If it were, she could give her life to it and stop feeling lost.

Elissa was desperate. She knew she could get nothing from it but false hope, but she couldn't stop hoping. She _had_ to _try_. She needed something, and this was all she could find.

At last, she jumped.

"In Life's name…"

_No. I won't hope…_

"And for life's sake…"

_Please, God. Please._

* * *

Something was different when Elissa brought her book to school the next day. She didn't feel so empty anymore.

It didn't help her with her friends. They seemed to be living far apart from her now. She could not join in with them at all.

_Is this what I wanted?_ she wondered.

They started a project that day in English. Sheena chose someone else as her partner. Elissa didn't know who she could ask. She always paired with her friends.

_Is this what I asked for?_ It was not what she wanted.

Finally, she looked around. The only person standing was Sky. She was very quiet and the type to lose herself in books. Elissa had always wanted to find a good style for her hair, good clothes, and a smile for her, but Elissa only knew how to make over black girls, and Sky was Asian.

Sky looked her way. Their eyes met…

And Elissa knew that it was all real and she was not alone.

* * *

Elissa's sister called that night and instantly burst into tears. She couldn't speak, but Elissa understood, suddenly, why she was upset, and realized that she had chosen a difficult path – but had a guide.

She hoped she would never be lost again.

**

* * *

I know it's kind of short at the end. Maybe I should have written more, but I couldn't think of anything. I wrote the second half of this story, and all of the last one, in a notebook before or between classes when I didn't have anything better to do.  
**

**I don't expect to have any chapters ready for a while, but I have four more ideas. I know I've said this before, but I think after that, the series will end. Now, how many years it will take for me to get through them...  
**


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